“Great Britain?” he asked again, with a quick tap of his foot on the shingle.

“Yes,” said I, while Jim burst out laughing.

“England?  Scotland?”

“Scotland.  But it’s England past yonder trees.”

“Bon! I know where I am now.  I’ve been in a fog without a compass for nearly three days, and I didn’t thought I was ever to see land again.”

He spoke English glibly enough, but with some strange turn of speech from time to time.

“Where did you come from then?” asked Jim.

“I was in a ship that was wrecked,” said he shortly.  “What is the town down yonder?”

“It is Berwick.”

“Ah! well, I must get stronger before I can go further.”

He turned towards the boat, and as he did so he gave a lurch, and would have fallen had he not caught the prow.  On this he seated himself and looked round with a face that was flushed, and two eyes that blazed like a wild beast’s.

“Voltigeurs de la Garde,” he roared in a voice like a trumpet call, and then again “Voltigeurs de la Garde!”

He waved his hat above is head, and suddenly pitching forwards upon his face on the sand, he lay all huddled into a little brown heap.

Jim Horscroft and I stood and stared at each other.  The coming of the man had been so strange, and his questions, and now this sudden turn.  We took him by a shoulder each and turned him upon his back.  There he lay with his jutting nose and his cat’s whiskers, but his lips were bloodless, and his breath would scarce shake a feather.

“He’s dying, Jim!” I cried.

“Aye, for want of food and water.  There’s not a drop or crumb in the boat.  Maybe there’s something in the bag.”

He sprang and brought out a black leather bag, which with a large blue coat was the only thing in the boat.  It was locked, but Jim had it open in an instant.  It was half full of gold pieces.

Neither of us had ever seen so much before—­no, nor a tenth part of it.  There must have been hundreds of them, all bright new British sovereigns.  Indeed, so taken up were we that we had forgotten all about their owner until a groan took our thoughts back to him.  His lips were bluer than ever, and his jaw had dropped.  I can see his open mouth now, with its row of white wolfish teeth.

“My God, he’s off!” cried Jim.  “Here, run to the burn.  Jock, for a hatful of water.  Quick, man, or he’s gone!  I’ll loosen his things the while.”  Away I tore, and was back in a minute with as much water as would Stay in my Glengarry.  Jim had pulled open the man’s coat and shirt, and we doused the water over him, and forced some between his lips.  It had a good effect; for after a gasp or two he sat up and rubbed his eyes slowly, like a man who is waking from a deep sleep.  But neither Jim nor I were looking at his face now, for our eyes were fixed upon his uncovered chest.